The Notion of Resilience
Why I hate the word resilient & what it actually means to me.
I, like many of you, subscribe to a variety of newsletters from small pockets of the internet. I get a few on mental health, some on writing, some on entrepreneurship, some on creativity and some following individuals journeys that I relate to or find comfort or inspiration from.
When I was in the hospital for the first time in December, a skull-crushing migraine prevented me from looking at screens AT ALL. I couldn’t even send a text, ya’ll. It was then, laying in that hospital bed in the dark and the silence day after day that I realized how much communication with the external world kept me going, and how much writing and posting on social media was a solid and helpful outlet for maintaining my mental health.
Sometime in mid-January, I found a small bit of reprieve towards the end of 7 weeks of IV antibiotics for bacterial meningitis, and when I returned to my inbox after mostly ignoring it for the longest period of time in my life, I had over 400 emails to sort through.
Now, I’m going to be honest.
This basically gave me paralyzing anxiety.
I’m a 10 emails in my inbox kind of girl. I file things as soon as I read or respond to them, and I’m not comfortable with my inbox building up (or texts that are unread, or voicemails not listened to). I think something about it comes from never wanting to be behind, not wanting to owe things to people when I can’t deliver, and certain self-limiting or self-challenging beliefs that I’m only valuable when I’m productive or producing.
The initial email overhaul was too hard. Too complicated. So I created temporary folders within Gmail for buckets of things, where I could attack one at a time. I had one for bills and financial related emails, one for personal emails, one for professional emails, and one for newsletters specifically titled *To Read in 2024. I was trying to be honest in holding myself to realistic expectations, and the newsletter section of my inbox was more for self-growth and development, which not only was not urgent, but was something I didn’t have the ability to dedicate myself to during the most vulnerable part of my infection recovery.
It’s now mid-March, and for the first time in 3.5 months, I’ve started dipping back into that folder. I’m trying to read a few notes every time I sit down at my computer, which is sometimes only a few days a week, and I keep adding to that folder while new emails continue to come in, so it has begun to feel like a “have to” not a “want to.” This was never the point. I never subscribed to newsletters or substack pages or medium channels because I had to. I did it because I wanted to. Because I thought it could be beneficial for some part of me I was working to develop and support inside.
Today, I gave myself permission.
I deleted some of the older emails without reading them or filing them - something I’m sure last year would’ve made me shudder. I mean, this is very clearly NOT my inbox strategy. I read AND file everything I receive.
Yes. Really.
Today I also unsubscribed to the newsletters I didn’t want to read. Why have them collecting dust anywhere in my virtual space if they don’t align with me anymore? This felt like a real moment of growth, to be honest.
Then, I started reading. This time, it wasn’t random. I picked my favorite writer,
and read all of the emails she’s sent out since December, starting with the most recent ones. I found that as per usual, there were things that she wrote that resonated with me, even though our lives look wildly different. She’s been a powerhouse writer I’ve followed for more than a decade, and I always find that no matter what topic she’s covering, there’s always more to it than meets the eye. Her Wild Letters make me feel connected and filled up, like after walking away from a discussion with a friend.The next author I tackled was
who emails somewhat less frequently - something in this context that worked in my favor, who writes in a way thats easy to read, and easy to relate to. Her most recent article on Time and Conspiring with the Universe made me feel seen in this stage of my life.Finally, I read the notes from Sara at SurvivorWise, a complex trauma recovery writer.
This, friends, is exactly what I needed today.
In one of her recent posts, Sara wrote about how she’d been reflecting on resilience and how it applies to her current situation. BAM.
This instantly took root inside of me.
I’ve HATED the word resiliency for so damn long. I’ve wished to never be called resilient again. Why, you may ask?
In a world that often praises endurance in the face of adversity, the idea of bouncing back at any cost can feel exhausting and unsustainable. As a complex trauma survivor, I've already sacrificed so much of myself in the process of surviving my traumas. The last thing I want is to perpetuate a cycle of self-neglect in the name of resilience.
-Sara Aird
Because of this.
This quote.
The painful lack of sustainability of continually being forced to be resilient.
I had to be resilient when I was 14 and one of the closest adults in my life had a heart attack and died suddenly in his sleep.
I had to be resilient again at 15 when my parents separated.
At 17 when I had to bury a friend and a classmate who died from complications of cancer.
At 18 when I had to bury a friend who died in a drunk driving accident.
At 21 when I had to bury a friend and sorority sister who died by suicide.
At 23 when I became chronically ill.
At 26 when I was diagnosed with depression and anxiety.
At 29 when I was finally diagnosed with Crohn’s disease and Rheumatoid Arthritis.
At 30 when my best friend died in a freak accident.
At 31 when we started struggling with infertility.
At 32 when I went through my first miscarriage.
I had to be resilient at 35 when I delivered twins too early to survive and I had no choice but to survive the cremation of my babies.
And again that year when I was diagnosed with a life-changing condition called Addisons disease.
I had to be resilient at 36 when I had emergency spinal surgery, followed by RSV and the development of permanent lung damage resulting in an Asthma diagnosis.
And again several months later when one of my closest friends died from breast cancer.
I had to be resilient at 37 when I spent nearly 3 months of time across several months in the hospital, away from my family. When I couldn’t eat for nearly a month followed by a surgical procedure which took too long to recover from.
And I’m supposed to be resilient now, four months after being diagnosed with bacterial meningitis, an infection that sometimes takes more than a year for symptoms to disappear. I’m supposed to be getting back to it, the daily grind, the working and the parenting and the personing - and it’s just not happening the way I want it to.
Being resilient — it’s been the thing that’s haunting me.
It’s the thread threatening to unweave the work I’ve done on my own complex trauma.
It’s the word I resent because of what it represents. Bouncing back. Moving forward. Keep-on-keeping-on, even when it feels like my life is held together by two bobby pins and a venti cold brew.
I’m tired. Like so freaking tired. Being resilient is the most exhausting characteristic of my life. Why can’t I just be honest. Thing’s aren’t fine. They haven’t really been fine for a long time now. But I’m living. I’m showing up, even when I don’t want to. I’m doing what needs to get done, even though it’s painful. I’m persistently a patient, even though I’d like to cancel all further medical appointments and never take a pill ever again. I’m parenting more, even when my head is throbbing and my daughter basically never stops talking. I’m working more, which I actually want desperately to do, even though my concentration and focus aren’t back to 100%.
I guess that’s resilience for me.
It’s showing up when I don’t want to. It’s stepping forward when I’m stuck. It’s asking for help when it’s too hard to do alone. It’s waiting. It’s trying to be patient and graceful when those aren’t even words I’m comfortable with.
Resilience for me is the absence of quitting. It’s being brutally honest, even when it’s not popular or appreciated. It’s setting boundaries that are uncomfortable. It’s saying good luck + goodbye to people who choose to launch verbal grenades instead of dealing with and discussing their feelings. It’s being tiny bits more compassionate with myself when I need to rest, and what rest looks like during that time. It’s writing, really writing again, because that’s the way my brain organizes things and makes sense out of them. Resilience is looking at this post, at the list above, and realizing how much I’ve survived - and even knowing that several of those things I didn’t think I would survive - but I did. I have. And I will continue to.
The notion of resilience is different for everyone.
What does resilience actually mean to you?